After a ten minute search, I find my sneakers shoved into a corner of my closet. It’s been at least two weeks since I’ve run and yet, here I am, scrambling to get organized.
My hat? My headphones? Socks?
There is no one holding me accountable today, and yet, I quiet the negative voice in my head, I ignore the sink full of dishes. I run, but what does it accomplish? I run so I can run again so I can run again so I can run again. Like laundry or dishes, a break is always welcome but ultimately a bad decision.
The air is cool, I wonder if my shorts are enough. The dog pulls on her leash before I am fully ready to start but I let her lead my dragging feet. I am awkward, clumsy feeling after this long break. My feet hit the asphalt heavy, my legs are cold my breath ragged. I hate this.
My ear buds blare pop music produced sometime within the past decade and my thoughts wanter. My lungs expand, contract, expand. The cool air fills them – my mind empties.
Somewhere between my house and the halfway mark, things change. My feet find a steady rhythm, my mouth turns up into a smile.
I make a quick decision and turn into the woods, a well groomed trail through my neighbourhood. Release the dog from her leash and she darts away. Push my legs harder, faster up the hill – I always try to race her. I’m almost there but then she’s back, suddenly, crashing past me. Push my legs up the steepest part, around the fallen tree, over the large rocks. My legs feel like jelly, my lungs are screaming and then: I’m out of the woods. I jog slowly to my house, breathing hard.
My shirt is damp, clinging to my back. My legs tremble, my lungs feel hot. Face flushed, salty; this is why I do it. This is why I make myself run (to run again and run again). Because I get to see my dog thundering by with her tongue hanging out. Because I get to feel my lungs scream. Because I get to feel my knees buckle under me.
Because it makes me feel alive.
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